


On Pins and Needles

by natsubaki



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Close Proximity, M/M, Tailoring, Tsukikane Week, battle suit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 22:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2828804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natsubaki/pseuds/natsubaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was Tsukiyama’s idea to begin with, Kaneki tells himself. He wasn’t anticipating just how troubling having the Gourmet so close could be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Pins and Needles

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tumblr's Tsukikane Week - Day Four: Suit.

 

“Kaneki-kun, please stay _still_.”

Tsukiyama has pins in his mouth, and Kaneki wonders how he hasn’t managed yet to stab himself in the tongue because he’s talking so much. Or rather, _complaining_ so much. It was Tsukiyama’s suggestion in the first place, and Kaneki is just humoring him since he’d come up with a good idea, for a change. Couldn’t Tsukiyama see that?

Turning a scowl that admittedly probably looked more like a pout, Kaneki crosses his arms and then immediately undoes them, bringing them straight out to either side after receiving a reproachful glare from Tsukiyama. “Then _hurry up_ , already. Are you always this slow?”

“Usually I’m on the receiving end of this treatment,” Tsukiyama comments, and Kaneki can tell that he’s just barely kept from rolling his eyes. Lately, Tsukiyama has been pretty lax in his conduct with Kaneki.

He’ll have to do something about that.

Later. Not while Tsukiyama has a whole arsenal of fabric pins in his possession. Sure, Kaneki could easily overpower him, but the little metal fuckers _hurt_ whenever he moves, and there are too many all over him for Kaneki to remove by himself. He would have to wait this entire ordeal out before he could do anything.

This should be the final fitting. To his credit, Tsukiyama hadn’t needed many to create this new battle suit. Once for measurements, and another time for the initial fitting, and now for last adjustments. Kaneki had thought the first draft had been good enough, but Tsukiyama had insisted on “nothing less than perfection,” and there was no arguing with the man once he had an idea firmly rooted in his brain.

The whole thing almost hadn’t happened. Kaneki had barely managed to stay still when Tsukiyama was taking his measurements, his skin crawling with every touch. Tsukiyama had had to loop and stretch the measuring tape over the entirety of Kaneki’s body, and it had been...uncomfortable...to say the least. Fingers pressed and lingered for seconds too long, sliding over skin and raising goosebumps in their wake. True, Kaneki had been clothed, so Tsukiyama’s touch had mostly been restricted to fabric, but the light pressure still had burned, making Kaneki squirm as Tsukiyama worked his way across Kaneki’s body, pausing every now and then to jot down notes and numbers.

Even worse, _it hadn’t felt bad_. On the contrary, feeling Tsukiyama so close had felt _good_ , and that in and of itself was mortifying. Kaneki had struggled to tamp down shivers whenever Tsukiyama traced a path down his spine, bit the inside of his cheek whenever Tsukiyama’s breath puffed warmly against his skin. Had Tsukiyama needed to roll back the sleeves of Kaneki’s shirt, Kaneki had been certain his flush had extended all the way down to his wrists.

It just wasn’t _fair_. He was supposed to hate the guy, not get a hard-on from the slightest of touches. He’d excused himself immediately after, stalking off abruptly to take care of himself in the bathroom before anyone had had a chance to notice.

Kaneki had been more mentally prepared the second time around. He’d done math problems in his head the entire time, subtracting by sevens, enduring one form of discomfort to stave off another.

It had worked.

He only has to withstand a few more moments. Kaneki struggles to keep his breathing even, feels his diaphragm shudder and hitch as Tsukiyama’s fingers ghost over his ribcage.

Tsukiyama has laser-like focus, his brows drawn tight as he steps back and scrutinizes the outfit then descends again to play with the cloth. He’s now done with pinning— _thank god_ —and all that’s left is to sew the adjustments in place. A needle and thread replaces the straight pins, and Tsukiyama continues his work almost silently, murmuring things in languages Kaneki doesn’t understand underneath his breath.

Although Kaneki feels like he’s the one under a microscope, their positioning allows Kaneki the reverse opportunity for observation. Tsukiyama is on his knees, and for once, Kaneki can relax with the knowledge that the other isn’t being wholly guided by his appetite. Or at least, that part of him is subdued, if temporarily.

Kaneki will take the small victories where he can. When Tsukiyama isn’t thinking with his stomach or entertaining his gourmet aspirations, Kaneki finds his company almost enjoyable. They are close in age, with the same kinds of interests, and Tsukiyama knows how to keep a conversation intellectually stimulating without being offensive. All Kaneki had ever wanted was another friend, and who could say where things with Tsukiyama might have ended up had events not fallen the way they had.

It’s something that leaves Kaneki with a bitter taste, even after all this time.

Part of him laments the loss; another part is continually searching for ways to salvage the relationship, reconstruct it in a way that promotes self-preservation while still allowing Tsukiyama to be who he is. Still another part of him wonders why he still wants to try.

But the Tsukiyama in this moment is the one that Kaneki doesn’t want to give up on. He’s the one who constantly frets over Kaneki’s well-being, whose desires are fulfilling Kaneki’s wishes, who puts Kaneki above all others. It’s a nice feeling, to be cherished like that, and it’s moments like these where Kaneki finds it hard to dispel Tsukiyama’s genuine intentions as ulterior motives. He’s not even sure if Tsukiyama realizes it, either.

It’s not something he can risk. Tsukiyama has already betrayed him once, and just because he plays the docile pet now doesn’t mean he still won’t bite. Underneath that genteel exterior are razor-sharp teeth and a physique trained for murder. Should Kaneki leave his guard down for too long, he knows he’ll end up as the main course on Tsukiyama’s dining table. At this point, he doesn’t even take it personally. Tsukiyama is a ghoul, after all: selecting and eating prey is central to their nature.

Kaneki just wishes _he’d_ get dropped from the menu.

He breathes slowly, deeply, trying not to disrupt Tsukiyama’s work. Peering down, trying not to move, Kaneki watches as Tsukiyama weaves the needle in and over, deftly stitching in precise increments, light catching on the metal’s loop and traveling along to the point with each arc. The motions are graceful, in perfect alignment with his appearance. Tsukiyama carries himself with an elegance that can’t be imitated—it’s ingrained in him, part of the fiber of his being.

First impressions are lasting ones, and Kaneki admits that Tsukiyama really is beautiful when he’s not trying to serve Kaneki on a platter. His strangely-colored eyes are framed by well-shaped brows and long, full lashes. His skin is smooth and unmarred, pale like porcelain. It makes his face look all the more delicate, complete with full lips and soft hair. The strands glide easily through Kaneki’s fingertips, almost too slippery, and although Tsukiyama pauses for a heartbeat, he continues his ministrations as though nothing had happened.

Those lips are now slightly curved at the edges, though, and Kaneki balls his fists at his momentary forgetfulness.

Kaneki keeps his vision focused on Tsukiyama’s shoulders, watching them rise and fall, his jacket creasing and smoothing along the corners with each shift. Tsukiyama is pretty broad despite his refined features, although Kaneki finds it not incongruent in the slightest—if anything, the contrast makes him more appealing.

It really isn’t fair at all.

A loud snip halts any further lines of thought. Tsukiyama is winding dark thread around a spool, securing the needle within its coiled ridges. Rolling back on his heels, Tsukiyama stands, brushing at his knees and thighs before rising to his full height. He picks and pulls at parts of Kaneki’s new outfit once more, making _Kaneki_ feel like the delicate one, then steps away, arms crossed, one hand holding his chin in contemplation. He smiles.

“ _Finito_ ,” Tsukiyama remarks, and there’s a glimmer in his eyes that unsettles Kaneki, although Kaneki isn’t sure if it’s unwelcomed or not.

Turning, Kaneki looks at himself in the large mirror that Tsukiyama has purchased for this occasion for the first time. He swings his arms, feeling out the stretch of the fabric, twists to see the large expanse of his lower back that remains uncovered to accommodate his regular kagune and open shoulders for his newly-forged kakuja kagune. He feels slightly exposed, and the outfit is _tight_ : Kaneki can make out every ripple of muscle, the outlines of bones. He’s secretly thankful for the long shorts Tsukiyama added during the suit’s second iteration, as though he knew Kaneki would bristle at wearing something that looked like it was painted on. Kaneki knows Tsukiyama would most definitely have preferred the clean lines of the suit without, but the concern for his modesty and comfort is just a bit touching.

“It’s actually...not bad,” he finally replies, seeing Tsukiyama’s smile grow wider in the mirror’s reflection.

“ _Bien sûr_ , nothing but the best for my dear Kaneki-kun,” Tsukiyama says, and Kaneki can detect the hint of pride in his voice. He’ll allow it, just this time.

Pulling his mask over his head, Kaneki marvels at the complete look: he is the picture of menacing, a dark shadow made of nightmares. He turns his visible eye for full effect. Not even he would want to encounter someone with this appearance.

He sets his kagune free, keeping the tendrils short, just enough to test out the openings. They slide back into his body with ease, and Kaneki nods, pleased. He knows Tsukiyama is relieved, as well—constantly replacing Kaneki’s wardrobe can’t be a cheap expense, especially considering Tsukiyama’s insistence upon higher-end clothing. Kaneki stretches up on his tip-toes, bends at his knees. The suit is so light that Kaneki can barely feel it at all—even with the shorts, it allows uninhibited movement, a full range of motion.

“Where did you even learn to do such a thing?” Kaneki asks, and he’s surprised to learn that he honestly wants to know the answer.

“It’s merely something I picked up from my family’s tailors,” Tsukiyama says as he packs up his supplies, gathering up scraps of fabric. “You learn quite a respectable amount from simple observation, especially considering all the time I spent as the subject of their labor. Everything else came from self-study, as a way to pass time.”

Kaneki doubts it was merely “to pass time,” given the Gourmet’s penchant for questionably loud fashion, but he doesn’t press any further.

Throwing a few punches midair, Kaneki darts around, launching his body into a backflip before stooping low to sweep a leg around, catching Tsukiyama off-guard. Tsukiyama’s eyes widen as his own legs are kicked from under him, and just before his head cracks against the floor, Kaneki reaches out and cradles the back of it. Tsukiyama’s kakugan emerges involuntarily, his body taut and on high alert as Kaneki perches over him, feet firmly planted over either side of Tsukiyama’s chest.

A wicked trill curves Kaneki’s mouth, visible underneath the open zipper of his mask. He tugs the leather down, bends closer while pulling Tsukiyama upward, closes his eyes as he tilts his head. Just as he expected, Tsukiyama’s lips are soft and pleasant, and Kaneki lets the kiss linger before he rights himself. 

A reward for a job well done.

His own lips still tingle.

Tsukiyama continues to lie there, his eyes wider than ever, although the black has receded, the red giving way to violet. He lifts himself to his elbows, one hand slowly creeping up to touch fingertips to his mouth, and Kaneki has to bite back a laugh when the tip of Tsukiyama’s tongue darts out, swiping over his bottom lip.

Really, he’s so helpless. It’s almost endearing.

Striding over to the door, Kaneki pauses, turns back to find Tsukiyama back on his feet, as though nothing at all unusual had transpired between the two. “Let’s test this thing out for real, shall we, Tsukiyama-san?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Tsukiyama replies, shrugging off his jacket with a smirk.

 


End file.
